The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (37 page)

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice a choked
whisper.
      ·

“I want you to go away. Out of Westport.”

“I have ten men here, all armed . . .”

Bannerman corrected him with a patient shake of
his head. “Them too, Palmer. Have Gary Russo here in
one hour. Then you can all leave quietly.”

“You . . . you're crazy.”

“Go to the Marriott Hotel in Stamford. Wait in the
lobby for my call. I'll tell you where you can pick up
your relatives, what my plans are for Westport, and why
you should try very hard to accept them.”

“You really are insane, aren't you? You're as crazy
as . . .”

“Billy McHugh,” Paul said pointedly, finishing Reid's
sentence. “Goodbye, Palmer.”

There were only six agents being processed through
the Greenfield Hill Clinic and the Westport community,
including the two Paul had seen in the blue jumpsuits.
The other four were functioning normally outside. The
number was a relief. According to Janet Herzog, who
was now in Westport with the rest of them, as many as
twenty might be in any of these halfway towns at a
given time. Paul found the files on the six who were
there. Russo was evaluating them now. With his own
people, that brought the total number to eighteen. The two in the jumpsuits were doubtful. He might have to
make other arrangements for them. On the other hand,
neither seemed much more damaged than Billy Mc
Hugh.

The dummy corporation that Roger Clew had men
tioned was called The Greenfield Foundation, logically
enough, and it owned an impressive array of local real
estate. Paul would need operating control of it.

P
almer Reid, his family members released un
harmed, was in a cold fury when he called.

“I will grind you down,” he said.

“You st
ill
have Wilmette and the others,’* Paul told
him. “Count your blessings.” Part of that was bluff. Paul
could not yet name the remaining halfway towns but Reid had no way of knowing that.

He listened, eyes closed, as Reid vented his rage with
sputtered threats and dire predictions. At last he inter
rupted, suggesting that he be allowed to summarize the
situation. Paul then patiently listed all the legal and
extralegal measures that were available to Reid, ex
plained why each would fail, and how he, Bannerman,
would respond even to the failures. Most of his re
sponses, he pointed out, would necessarily involve kill
ing because—short of going public about these six
towns, which, he presumed, neither of them wanted—
killing was all that would be left to them.

“Incidentally,” Paul told him, “I'll need to be named
executive director of The Greenfield Foundation, with
full power of attorney.”

“You have the gall to suggest that?” Reid was sput
tering again.

“You can certainly refuse. But then I'll take the three
million and set up my own corporation. On the other
hand, if you give me control over yours, you can still
pretend that I answer to you. You can say I'm running a
new experiment on your behalf.”

“What sort of experiment?”

“We're all going to stay here. We took a vote.”

“For how long?”

“We'll see. If they can function well here, and
they're content to stay, there doesn't seem to be much
point in uprooting them after a year or so. If the experi
ment works, you might think about trying it else
where.”

Reid was silent for a long moment. Bannerman
could almost hear the workings of his mind. First would
come the reflex rejection of Bannerman's given word.
What was he really up to? How did he plan to use these people? Then, last, he would explore the possibility that
Bannerman might actually be telling the truth.

“You intend to establish them permanently?” Reid asked. “In Westport?”

“That's what I said, Palmer.”

“How many?”

“I'm afraid that's a secret.”

“Might I ask . . . why they would agree to this?”

“They suspect that you'll try to retire them as well,
Palmer. I think they feel safer if we all retire together.”

“Paul. . . .” Another long silence. “On the remotest
chance that you're serious about this, and that you have
no ulterior motive, can you possibly believe that
Westport can absorb that wolf pack of yours without
getting eaten?”

Though Bannerman chose not to acknowledge it, Reid had a point. True, they'd been functioning as a
group for years, most of them, and true, their habit of
mutual support was well ingrained, but they weren't
exactly the Junior League. It remained to be seen how
soon the fun of having stolen Palmer Reid's town would
wear thin.

“Listen,” Paul told him. “You go ahead and think this
over. I know you'll try to hit us one way or the other so
go ahead and do that, too. I'll hit back and then we'll
both know where we stand. After that, maybe we can stop the foolishness before too many people get hurt.”

Reid, predictably, tested Paul's resolve although not
until he was newly incensed by still another outrage. A
report reached him that Anton Zivic was seen moving
freely about Westport, representing himself as a dealer
in art and antiques. Zivic's file showed that he had in
deed been a collector and knew his subject, Italian Re
naissance in particular. Reid gave orders to kidnap him.
The team he sent for that purpose was found the next
day in an automobile trunk in Norwalk, both men alive,
but barely. Paul called Reid to tell him where the car
was parked.

Some months later, two more men came to Westport
f
or the purpose of assassinating Paul. They came by
boat, docking at Westport's Saugatuck Yacht Club, se
cure in the belief that two extra pleasure boaters were
unlikely to be noticed in a town that was full of them.
They died aboard their boat, victims of a
fuel explosion
that was ruled accidental. To drive the message home,
Palmer Reid's new Grand Banks trawler was simulta
neously destroyed by fire while berthed at the Chesa
peake Yacht Club in Annapolis, Maryland.

During the two and half years that followed, Reid
retreated into attempts at surveillance, though only
from a distance. He tried to put pressure on Paul and his
people through other government agencies. But they,
with the exception of Anton Zivic and Harry Bauer,
were American citizens. They were paying their taxes,
apparently breaking no laws, were wanted for no crime
and made no attempt to disguise their identities. As for
Zivic and Bauer, the State Department suggested, infu
riatingly, that Reid mind his own business.

During those two and a half years, though Paul kept
his people well prepared for further attacks, none came.
None of Reid's men had even dared step within
Westport's borders. Not until the arrival of Doug Poole.

John Waldo met Anton Zivic at the door of Gary
Russo's home and office. Waldo gestured over his shoul
der toward a closed examining room where, Zivic pre
sumed, the unfortunate young man would be strapped
to a table.

“Have you begun questioning him?” Zivic asked.

“Ask me,” Waldo answered, “I think we're finished.
His name is Douglas Poole, he works for Robert Loftus.
Loftus is Reid's top guy in the field.”

Zivic heard a female voice coming from the examin
ing room. “Why is he here? And who is in there with
him?”

“Molly and Billy were here already. Molly brought
him for his sinuses. As for the kid, all he knows is Loftus
told him to keep an eye on Paul except he shouldn't
leave his car. Before that they were in New York tailing
Susan Lesko's father and a guy named Donovan but the
kid doesn't know why. He doesn't even know there's a
daughter to go with the father.”

“He's been here not ten minutes. How did you get
all that so quickly?”

“We couldn't shut him up. The kid's a fan.”

”A fan.” Zivic's expression went blank.

“Like in
gee whiz.
Like in
golly.
The second he rec
ognizes Molly and Billy it was
lik
e he keeps a scrapbook.
It was disgusting. By him, it was an honor I cold-cocked
him.”

The door opened. Molly stepped out, grinning
broadly.

“What is happening now?” Zivic asked.